


In Beauty,

by pawsdash



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Childhood Trauma, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecure Tony, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter has a disability, Peter loves them very much, Peter-centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve, Sensory Processing Disorder, Superfamily, Superfamily (Marvel), Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony is a really great parent, Tony makes mistakes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and Steve is just amazing, but try telling him that, meltdowns, this is honestly so fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 13:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15025220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsdash/pseuds/pawsdash
Summary: Parenting has its kinks- anyone would tell you that. But Tony is convinced that all of Peter's worst qualities come from his half- and he would fight anyone on that.





	In Beauty,

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this has been really emotional for me to write haha. Personally, it hits pretty close to home with me. It started out as one thing and then ended up as Tony's doubting himself as a parent because of Howard. 
> 
>  
> 
> I work with kids all the time as a child development educator. One of my greatest struggles has been doubting my own ability to care for kids due to my family's history of abuse. If you're in the same boat as me, you know how this feels- being so scared that you'll mess it up and not be good enough. I feel so strange in giving these kids the life I always wished I had. I imagine Tony feels the same- and thus, this work is born. 
> 
>  
> 
> There was also a song that helped me to write this/that I listened to while writing and which inspired the title. I, funnily enough, just listened to it because I thought it sounded beautiful, but the lyrics suit so perfectly in retrospect.  
> Bad Blood by Sleeping At Last
> 
> Trigger warnings:
> 
> Reference to Tony having been abused as a child, Peter develops sensory processing disorder, Peter has constant overstimulation meltdowns, Tony has panic attacks, Peter has nightmares and develops insomnia, Tony messes up a bit and isn't the best role model during one of Peter's meltdowns, and there's lots of crying and parent-child struggles.

Peter took after Steve in the best ways. Somehow, even if Peter was adopted and wasn’t at all biologically related to either of them, he still smiled with the same cheerful eyes and grin that Steve had passed to him. Tony saw Steve in every good thing that Peter did; the way that he threw his head back when he laughed too hard, the way that he read as he waited patiently for Tony to finish his work, the gentle touch that he used to pick up a baby bird that had fallen from its nest at the park. Steve had rubbed off on their son only in the best of ways.

Peter took after Tony in the worst ways. It was around 2 AM on a Wednesday night that Peter had scared the shit out of Tony, bursting into his workshop with no lack of dramatics. His face was puffy and red, streaked with hot, salty tears. Tony had hissed out some choice words in shock, puffing out a relieved breath when he realized it was simply Peter and not rugged captors or frost giants. No, it was just a pitifully-sniffling five-year-old, clad in his Captain America onesie that was growing too small on him (but that he was too stubborn to _ever_ sacrifice.)

“Whats’a matter, kiddo?” Tony hummed, setting down his tools and scrubbing a greasy hand through his hair. He crouched low to the ground as the young boy ran to him, throwing his smaller arms around Tony’s neck and twisting his fingers in his father’s shirt.

“Bad dream,” Peter sniffed, wetting Tony’s shirt with his tears and- _gross_ , Tony thought- other fluids that dripped across his face. Yeah, Tony remembered those days: his own eight-year-old self stumbling down into Howard's workshop with tears streaming down his face and begging for his father's comfort. He was met with a backhand and a bellowing, angry voice. _"Goddamn it, man up and quit whining or I'll give you something to cry about! You're a damn embarrassment to our name."_ From then on, he never dared come to his father crying again. 

“Petey, it’s okay,” Tony responded, scooping up the smaller body and pulling him close. “Let’s go find daddy, alright?”

The boy’s heavy tears began to wane as Tony took them upstairs, listening to the steady hum of the elevator. How little Peter had managed to get all the way into the basement, Tony didn’t even want to worry about at such a late hour. Instead, he focused on comforting Peter, rubbing a steady hand along his shuddering back. Of course, he couldn’t seem to get his itching mind off of the snot and spittle that was leaking its way through his shirt even despite his distress. _Gross, gross, gross._

Once the elevator slowed to a stop, Peter practically leapt from Tony’s arms, squeezing through the doors and sprinting through the hallway to a large bed. Just as it seemed he was calming down, he immediately began to sob again once he laid eyes on his other father. He flung himself onto the duvet, crawling over to the sleeping mound. Steve’s sleepy frown was even visible in the dark, growing into a deeper look of concern as he gently roused and allowed Peter to crawl onto his lap. The boy clung white-knuckled to Steve’s t-shirt, rubbing his face all over Steve this time. Tony winced, obviously knowing that Steve couldn’t have cared less, but still feeling a small sickness in his stomach at the thought.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He rasped, voice thick with sleep. His eyes drifted from his son’s trembling form to Tony, a questioning expression on his face.

“Nightmare,” Tony replied for the boy, kicking aside some discarded clothes strewn along the floor and sitting himself down on the bed. Steve, he thought to himself, would burst a blood vessel tomorrow if he woke to find dirty clothes askew in their room. When Steve’s frown grew even heavier with confusion, Tony shrugged helplessly. “What’d you dream about, kiddo?”

It took a moment for Peter to collect himself enough to answer, gasping a few times before he could manage words. “I-I dreamed the bad guys drowned daddy,” he sputtered before continuing to sob and wow, that hit way too close to home. 

“Which daddy? Me?” Steve questioned gently, pulling away so that he could look into Peter’s eyes. Instead of returning his gaze, Peter’s tearful eyes looked back into Tony’s, lip wobbling with emotion. He shook his head.

Tony was on his feet before he could register, pacing away from the bed and clasping his hands behind his head. _It’s fine, it’s fine. He doesn’t know about Afghanistan. It’s a coincidence. How would he know?_ Where had all of this come from? Peter had never had nightmares before. Tony felt his heart thudding against the arc reactor, an ache beginning to burn inside his chest. There wasn’t enough air. The cries were getting louder with every step he took away from his family, instinctively pacing toward the door. He had to leave, had to get out before he rubbed off even more on their son. 

“Tony?” Steve called after him, breaking his spiralling thoughts. He turned to see that Peter’s cries had stopped and instead, Peter had stilled almost completely. A completely heartbroken expression enveloped his features, staring after Tony, his father abandoning him when he needed him the most. 

Tony was turning around to leave, then he wasn’t. He was closing the distance, reaching out to meet Peter as the younger boy’s frail arms grabbed at the empty air for him. Then, they were both crying, holding each other as closely as humanly possible. Tony’s fingers smoothed over the wild brown curls, his other arm pulling the small figure close to his chest. He gasped in the familiar and comforting scent and the air was no longer crushing down on his lungs.

“Daddy’s not going anywhere, okay? Daddy loves you,” Tony mumbled out various strings of affections, sniffing. The next morning, Steve had told him that he had been harder to console than Peter had been.

 

The nightmares began to come regularly, turning into a nightly routine. Even when Tony _would_ go to bed before four in the morning, he would be roused by little hands shaking him awake the minute he closed his eyes. It was the nights that both of them had nightmares when things would go especially askew. If Peter having terrifying dreams wasn’t enough for him, his father having terrifying dreams surely shocked him, especially when the young boy would finally cry himself to sleep only to be woken by Tony’s loud cries. 

 

Peter’s worst qualities had come from Tony- and Tony would fight anyone on that.

 

It was during the first year of school that Peter began to make friends, tugging at Steve’s pant leg as he begged for play-dates. Soon enough, Steve and Tony were watching over more than one little body play superheroes in the tower. Peter had taken on all of Steve’s best qualities, leading the “Avengers” into battle and giving out orders to the others. Within a month, Peter had befriended a young girl named Mary-Jane, a very sweet child with Downs Syndrome. The teacher reported to them that Peter was the first friend that she’d ever had. It was in the first months of the school year that Steve’s qualities bloomed in Peter, his desire to help people, his gentle leadership, his humility. It was also in these first months of the school year that Peter began to have meltdowns.

Of course, every child had meltdowns. Steve and Tony had dealt with the occasional “I-won’t-eat-my-peas” meltdown, just as every other parent had. However, these meltdowns were much different. Tony’s work would be interrupted by a call from the first grade teacher, lamenting in a panicked voice that Peter was completely inconsolable. The sobbing would last for sometimes an hour along with all the fix-ins, kicking legs and screaming and writhing on the floor. At first, the fathers had dismissed it as a bad day or a poor night’s sleep due to nightmares- however, it quickly ran downhill.

The meltdowns were clearly not tantrums; no, Peter didn’t want attention or candy or toys. He just cried and cried, slamming the door to his room or pushing his way into a corner or under a table. He would throw himself on the ground with so little awareness that he would wake up with bruised knees and elbows- he would bang his head against the wall until he had a large bump on his forehead. At first, Steve and Tony turned to their teammates whose immediate advice was to give Peter tough love and such. However, when they would witness the meltdowns firsthand, they insisted that something else was wrong.

Steve wanted to take Peter to the doctor, so Tony brought the doctor to him. The particular doctor was a paediatric neurological psychiatrist, flown in from Germany to assess Peter. The examination required the doctor to be around Peter for hours on end, observing his behaviour and emotional patterns. In the end, the conclusion came that Peter was experiencing a sensory processing disorder, specifically sensory over-responsive. It was, the doctor explained, as if his senses had been “dialled to an eleven” in these moments, set off by uncomfortable sensations. 

Steve had the ability to sit with Peter until the meltdowns would stop. He would turn off the lights and sit next to the boy, speaking in low and comforting words. Tony, on the other hand, couldn’t handle it. When Peter was overwhelmed, Tony was overwhelmed- and this didn’t give them much to work with. Tony would pace back and forth, growing more and more anxious with each scream. Eventually, Steve would encourage Tony to leave the room- all he had been doing anyways included rambling angrily under his breath and scaring Peter even more. After a while, to Tony’s dismay, their strategy simply included Steve comforting Peter whilst Tony stayed as far away from them as possible.

 

It was the day that Steve was called to a mission and Tony was left alone with Peter that shit started to hit the fan.

_“Steve Rogers, I’m so sorry to interrupt but I’m afraid we have encountered a problem. I took the liberty of hacking into your communication device to report the… well, the unfortunate state of Sir and Peter at this current moment. I was sure you would have liked to be notified that Mr. Stark needs you as soon as possible.”_

It was safe to say that Jarvis’ metallic British voice in Steve’s ear was enough to nearly make him fall from his bike at eighty miles per-hour. 

 _“Steve?”_ Natasha’s voice said, breaking a long silence. “ _Steve, you alright?”_

 

Tony practically leapt into his arms after Steve had burst through the door to the penthouse, clutching wildly at his large hands. Dark red rimmed his eyes and nose, swiping away wetness as it pooled under his eyes. His breaths came quickly, laboured and gasping as if to match the deafening screams that serenaded them. Just past him, Peter laid on the carpet, thrusting his fists into the hard ground as he sobbed. 

“I-I can’t make him stop, Steve,” Tony lamented, panic coursing through his veins. What if Peter was hurting? What if he could never fix this? Was he that incompetent, that he was thrust into a full-blown panic attack at his son’s crying?

“Tony,” Steve breathed, both hands fixing on the smaller man’s shoulders. Even with the reassuring, firm grip, Tony continued to look over his shoulder at the screeching child. The little hands were gripping at his curly brown hair, pulling and pulling as he cried. “Tony. Tony, look at me right now.” Steve said again, coming out as a stern command more than anything else. When Tony’s reddened eyes finally met his, he continued. “It’s gonna be okay, Tony. I need you to try to calm yourself down so that I can deal with Peter- he’s scared, Tony. I need you to close all of the blinds, okay? That’s your job right now. Okay?” He instructed, feeling his chest tighten with Tony just stared at him blankly, sniffling. “Tony? Close the blinds, okay? Alright?” Finally the man nodded, gasping in a shaky breath as he pulled away.

“J-Jarvis? Can you black out the windows?” Tony asked, his usual, confident voice now laced with question rather than authoritarianism. 

Once the room had been pitched into darkness, Steve lowered himself to the ground and crawled over to Peter, situating himself there. His hand reached for Peter’s flailing one, clasping it in his warm grip. Peter reacted immediately, pulling his little fingers away and continuing to bawl. Steve sighed, beginning to shush Peter gently. These attacks were near impossible to mitigate at times and required only patience. He sat quietly next to his son in the dark, murmuring low and quiet assurances. 

“Pete? Pete, it’s daddy. Breathe, okay? You’re going to be okay.” Steve murmured, putting his hand out. “Can you give me your hand, baby boy? I promise I won’t hurt you. It’s me, it’s daddy.”

Finally, Peter’s sobs calmed enough that he could reach a shaky palm out to clasp Steve’s. Steve allowed himself to smile, stroking the clammy fingers comfortingly. “I’m gonna put your hand on my chest and you’re gonna match my breathing- like a game. You ready to play? Okay, here.” Steve helped Peter into a position where he could reach Steve’s ribs, the small boy giving in and pressing both palms flat to Steve’s chest. He still continued to cry, though his shaking breaths were noticeably longer, struggling to match Steve’s.

After ten minutes, Peter had cried himself out and clambered exhausted into Steve’s lap. Steve held the small frame firmly, careful not to overwhelm him again with too many sensations. Of course, his mind swam just like Tony’s. What if there was something else wrong? Was Peter autistic? Was he dysfunctional? Despite his thoughts, he was able to calm himself enough that he could deal with the situation at hand. He scooped up the sniffling, hiccupping boy and paced to the sink, sitting Peter on the counter as he filled a plastic cup with water. Peter obediently sipped from it, despite that his wracking chest made swallowing difficult.

“W-where’s d-d-daddy?” Peter forced out, voice raw and scratchy. Steve paused, eyes searching the darkened room for a figure. It seemed that, during the whole process, Tony had left. Steve felt an overwhelming grief strike him and regretfully, even some irritation that Tony hadn’t cared to help. He knew it was wrong, but that didn’t stop the thought from entering his mind. 

“Daddy probably just went to lie down for a bit,” Steve assumed, knowing that it was a lie. Tony was likely curled up somewhere, shuddering as he was caught in a panic attack. Despite knowing this, Steve couldn’t bring himself to look for Tony for fear of upsetting Peter again.

“Is daddy… i-is daddy m-mad at me?” Peter whispered, eyes downcast. His lower lip trembled and Steve was quick to intervene.

“No, baby, no- of course not,” he comforted the child, smoothing his hands along Peter’s forearms. “Why would you say that, Pete?”

“I-I made daddy cry,” he lamented shamefully, sniffling. “Daddy started yelling at me to st-stop but I-I didn’t know how.” 

Steve sighed and shook his head, struggling to find any words that would be appropriate to say. Instead, he just looked reassuringly into Peter’s eyes, biting down on his lip in thought before he spoke. “Do… do you know that he loves you?”

“Yes,” Peter said softly, big brown eyes staring into Steve’s.

“Well, when daddy was little, his daddy didn’t love him very much. His daddy… his daddy would be very mean to him and would even hurt him sometimes.” Steve said cautiously, weighing each word carefully. “So… when he first became your daddy, he was very scared.”

“Scared of me?” Peter croaked out, voice small and fearful, as if he were afraid of the answer.

“No, baby, not scared of you.” Steve paused, drawing in a deep and difficult breath. “He was scared of himself. He was scared… he was scared that he would be a bad father for you, just like his daddy was.” 

“But… but daddy’s a good daddy.” Peter said surely, seeming confused at the very notion that Tony would fear his failure as a parent. 

“Sometimes, he doesn’t know that, though.” Steve explained, chewing hard on his lip again. “You know how you have those meltdowns and you get really overwhelmed? That’s what happens to daddy too, but a little bit different. So right now, he’s feeling really…” Steve sighed, looking away dejectedly from his son as he spoke. “He’s very scared right now. He’s scared that he’s a bad daddy.”

Peter’s lower lip began to tremble again and his eyes welled with tears. As Steve felt a rush of panic course through him, worrying about another impending meltdown, Peter instead said, “I wanna see daddy,” voice tearful and quiet. 

Steve would have normally objected, distracting Peter and giving Tony some time to rest. Unfortunately, it didn’t look to be his best option at the time. Wordlessly, Steve nodded and scooped Peter up. “Jarvis, where is Tony?”

“ _In his room, Captain.”_

Once they had pushed open the door, Peter flailed slightly to indicate that Steve put him down. Once Steve had obliged, Peter stepped over to the bed, frowning. A large mound was huddled there, quiet and likely asleep. The boy clambered onto the bed to the best of his ability, pulling aside the duvet.

“Daddy?” He murmured, little hands reaching to stroke at Tony’s face. 

Tony’s eyes opened slowly, an expression of shame clouding his face. He sniffed, clasping Peter’s hands in his own. “Hey, sweetheart.” He mumbled lowly, forcing a thin smile. 

“Daddy?” Peter echoed again, that lip starting to wobble with emotion again. “I-I’m sorry, daddy. I’m really sorry for-“

“What? Baby, no,” Tony interrupted, a concerned look crossing his face. He propped himself up on one elbow. “No, honey, you never have to be sorry, I’m the one that needs to be sorry. I-I should have been… better.” Tony’s weak smile began to fade as he struggled to hold back emotion. 

Peter bit down on his lip, tears finally spilling over again. “I-I…” He began unsurely, pressing both of his clammy palms to Tony’s cheeks again. “I think you’re a really good daddy.” Peter offered, those shaky breaths returning. “And I-I l-love you a lot. Don’t cry.” Peter had always been a very emotional kid but this, this had Steve practically floored. 

That was enough to break Tony, the man pushing Peter’s hands away so that he could cover his own face. Steve was by his side immediately, running a comforting hand over his back as he sobbed. At first, Peter’s face held dejected confusion. Had he hurt daddy? Then, Tony was sitting up and pulling Peter into his lap, giving a gentle hug as if he were afraid to break the young boy. 

“Daddy, don’t cry,” Peter sniffled, prying away Tony’s hands and beginning to smear his hands across Tony’s face to clear away the tears. “W-why are you crying, daddy?”

Tony let out a shaky laugh at that, maybe at his own emotions. He shook his head slowly, drawing in a deep breath. “I-I’m just really happy, kiddo.” He finally collected himself and ruffled Peter’s hair affectionately, grinning when Peter squealed and balked. “And I’m really proud of you.”

Peter took after Steve in the best ways- but maybe Tony had to give himself some credit sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: odetopsychiatry


End file.
